


neverstay.

by no_notea



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: ?? - Freeform, Angst, Character Study, Dialogue Heavy, Geralt is desperate, I Am Sorry, Late Night Writing, Manipulation, Mind Break, Multi, Possessive Behavior, Psychological, Yennefer is a little crazy, ambiguous ending, brief mentions of knife play, consent starts dubious and becomes sincere, idk how would you describe this fic..., just a bit?, memory repression, mild descriptions of smut, torture via pleasure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22513165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/no_notea/pseuds/no_notea
Summary: Yennefer of Venderberg could not be owned.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 4
Kudos: 91





	neverstay.

**Author's Note:**

> So this started as a dive into Yennefer's lust for power and control at 1am and became.....thiiisss....? 
> 
> I don't really know what to call this. it was majorly stream of conscious writing after the first paragraph or so so i hope its not too out of left field or confusing. i also dont know if i got all the tags so if theres something important that i missed be sure to tell me. feedback is appreciated cause i honestly dont know what to think of this LMAO, hope u enjoy
> 
> also - i dont know too much about the witcher aside from the tv show so sorry for any mistakes or inconsistencies ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

Yennefer had a problem with wanting. She had a problem with possessions. Anything she wanted, she knew she'd get, save for the few things she desired most in the world. Perhaps that was why her heart was so greedy, and gaping, like a chasm awaiting the rain to fill it.

But no downpour could flood these aching walls. She wanted. And then she wanted some more.

After a while, the sorcerer had herself convinced that everything she wanted, she actually needed. _Needed,_ like the blood that ran through her body, like the Chaos she harvested through her fingers, it was a necessity. Like air. Like water. Like movement. 

Yennefer needed to know she had control. 

\- 

When she stared into the eyes of the man who claimed to love her, who _she_ had thought of fondly, once, a defiance thrilled her body and confidently, her conscience sang;

_You don't own me._

\- 

When the lords and barons smiled her at her, with their ruddy lips and pig faces, thinking that they had her under their thumb, thinking she was an accessory of a woman to bend and control, a satisfied spark lit within the mage as the magic worked inside them, thieving their senses, and behind that cat-like grin, she sang;

_You don't own me._

\- 

When Geralt of Rivia was pressed against her body, seeking release and perhaps something more, a single reverberation echoed inside Yennefer, loud, deafening, all she could hear, a reminder; 

_You don't own me._

\- 

Yennefer of Venderberg could not be owned. She could not be chained, could not be broken, could not be tied down. And the sick desires, the _need_ inside of her pulled and stretched, until she began to accept this invading truth; 

_I own them._

Every man who ever wronged her, looked at her with unwarranted lust or suspicion. _I own them._

Geralt of Rivia, whose heart she ruined with a kick of her heel, a well placed blow with words to tatter the mutant who before seemed so unstoppable. _I own him._

The bardling who received the negative blow of her words, transfered through the cruel Witcher, and unleashed onto him as an unfair victim. In the end, it was her doing that ruined the musicians spirit. _I own him._

Yennefer was singular, an entire creature by herself, but she could possess. She could take. She could _keep._

And she was never one for leaving behind a few broken pieces of a whole. 

\- 

He was waiting, wanting, and certainly weak; Yennefer was not such a coward.

"If you keep singing that song, someone might think that you're in love."

The bard halted his fingers mid-strum, head shooting up fast. Yet he turned his head slow, as if giving her time to leave before he could see her, hoping she would leave. She didn't, and the tightness of Jaskier's shoulders was prominent.

"I have no business with you-" the words were drawled and icy, and ended with a venomous stab - "Witch."

Yennefer smiled with mock pity, shaking her head. "You don't hate witches, Jaskier. You hate me. Don't harm all of us with your poison tongue."

In return for her smile, he sneered, turning away from her as if she reminded him of something hideous and wet on the side of the road. His fingers twitched on the lute strings, but would not play. Could not play. 

A beat of silence. "Why are you here, then? Come to fuck me over again with your poor choices?"

"Fuck you over, perhaps, but not with any poor choices." 

Jaskier choked then, and stared into the middle distance and then directed his eyes to her, confusion swallowing his features. When he didn't reply, she continued.  
"None of my choices are poor, actually. Quite rude of you to imply."

"What in Melitele's tits are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about," she approached him them, and while the bard uncomfortably shifted away, he didn't make a break for it (yet).

"-the fact that you were treated like dirt. And I apologise, on behalf of Geralt. I have caught wind of what happened between you two." Jaskier stiffened and pursed his lips, glancing away again. "He is not a fair man. Never was, though he tried. He was not fair to you." 

Blue eyes remained unfocused and turned to the ground. Yennefer sad beside him, and he didn't flinch when she touched his arm. Too lost, too fragile, bent in anger and hurt and wanting. 

Yennefer understood. She would never say, but she understood. 

"What exactly- What do you... want from me? You wouldn't... come here, out of the kindness of your heart, Yennefer of Venderberg, I know you. Not well, sure, but I _know you._ You're looking for something. Whatever it is, I don't have it, and you wouldn't get it even if I did, so good day, my _lady-_ "

When he tried to stand, Yennefer stood faster, pushing him against the wall he had propped himself up against. The bard stuttered, and sighed dramatically in irritation, about to go on an anxious tangent, but Yennefer had a different idea.

"Jaskier, be quiet. I don't want _anything_ from you." The growl in her voice softed, the snarl fading, as she started into that wide blue gaze. Like a summery afternoon sky. "I _need_ something from you." 

And to push those buttons even further, she swallowed, and- "Please, Jaskier."

Jaskier was helpless to resist, and she knew; the mage that broke his heart was pleading. He would bathe in the satisfaction it gave him, then eventually drown in it.

\- 

"I don't bed mages," he had curtly responded to her seductive display, covered in sheer drapery and not much else. "I don't bed witches, I don't bed warlocks, I most certainly won't bed you." 

"Poor Jaskier," Yennefer tutted as if scolding a child and grabbed the hem of his pants. "You won't bed me. I will bed you."

He murmured and tried to not watch, with curious interest, as her fingers expertly undid the laces of his trousers without seeing them. "Not much of a difference, is there-"

"It is all the difference, lark." Her gaze was still focused on blue eyes. Though their hue was slightly off, perhaps now a muddy green in the golden light of the bedroom she's taken them to. The baron's house is nice. She plans to make full use of it as long as he remains enchanted. "I bed you, it leaves me with control. This is what I need from you." She was blunt, no trickery or silky words for the poet to lean into. Just the hard, blatant truth.

He was uncharacteristically silent as she stripped him. He only spoke, with his confused, softened tone when Yennefer leaned in for a kiss. "Why is this what you need?"

"Because I need everything." 

\- 

His cries varied from gutteral groans to soft, pitiful sighs, as Yennfer tore out everything good from the poor bardling that she wounded. Pleasure-pain and blinding lust clouded the days and nights, until the man who sang praises for The White Wolf was choking on his poetry and unable to speak. He had gone from anxious, to tense, to proud, and then to blessidly subservient. Compliance looks good on him, and she tells him as much while he kneels on the stone ground with his mouth open wide, tonguing her cunt with expert licks and sucks, making her breathless with want- with need.

Jaskier prefers to be blindfolded and bound, because then he can imagine another set of hands as Yennefer uses his body to heal him and herself. To reassure that she has it all, even this, even the pathetic songbird who's affections remained Geralt's throughout their trysts.

She was only satisfied, only sated, when the name he whimpered stopped being _his_ and was replaced with _hers._

Now she has him.

**You don't own me.**

\- 

Geralt arrived at night with the princess Ciri, and after proper greetings and happy exchanges, the young girl is off to bed in good spirits. Yennefer knew he'd come back, eventually, it was expected because of the wish, because of bloody Destiny, but that fact did not make her sour anymore. Just because Geralt wished for them to be tied, did not make her his. Did not make him more.

"I am almost a bit sad you showed up. I had the whole night planned." Geralt snorted.

"Another mystical orgy, I suppose?"

"No," she smiled. The knowing look in her eyes was not unnoticed. "I have someone scheduled to sing my praises."

She watched as Geralt frowned at the familiar phrase. They were familiar on purpose.

She bid him goodnight and disappeared down the hallway, and the witcher was helpless to follow, as she knew he would be. The promise in her words was too horrifying, too unreal to admit without his own eyes. She opened the door to her chambers and waited for him to catch up before being enveloped in the warm light inside. 

And what Geralt saw nearly ruined him.

Jaskier, hands obediently still, Jaskier, blindfolded, Jaskier, nuzzling against her thigh and humming a broken tune into her warm skin. 

'What have you done,' he wants to ask, but finds he can't speak.

"Don't talk," she mumbles with a smile as her eyes remained locked onto Geralt's, who was frozen by the doorway. Jaskier nodded with a hum, thinking the words were for him.

An unreadable expression to most, but Yennefer dug deeper; there was shock, and fear, and desire, and pain. Confusion. Worry. The witcher was torn open at the seams and Yennefer read him like a book, satisfied with what she saw. Geralt was a fool for thinking he hurt Jaskier - it was all Yennfer. The rejection she had forced onto Geralt was passed onto the closest victim, which happened to be the bard. Her bard. 

Threading her fingers through silky hair, a dagger rested in the other palm and was pointed to Jaskier's neck. The witcher tensed, and the bardling moaned, making the confusion on Geralt's face more plainly obvious. Yennefer laughed, happily. And Jaskier sighed at the heavenly sound.

\- 

Spread out like a fine dish on silken sheets, his bard was trembling and calling out for the mage he used to loathe. 

Her fingers were slow where she was sat behind him, the digits covered in a sickly smelling oil, too sweet. She played with Jaskier's cock like a fine instrument, and he responded with songs to match.

Geralt was helpless. He didn't know if a spell, or his own shock kept him glued in place, but he watched everything. Every tiny twitch of muscle in Jaskier's stomach and thighs. Every swallow that made his throat bob. Each gleam of sweat in the dim orange light. Every single sound, it pierced his ears like an arrow and hurt twice as much.

How long has it been, since he's seen Jaskier, and how long has he been _here?_ Yennefer wouldn't tell him, though she knew that he wondered, if her knowing eyes were anything to go by.

"Good boy," she muttered. "My sweet little lark."

Not yours, Geralt's heart whispered hopelessly. Mine.

"Tell me, Jaskier, who are you thinking about right now?"

"Yen- Yennefer."

It stung in a way he didn't expect. 

"Do you remember who hurt you?"

"No."

"Do you remember why?"

"No- _ah..._ "

Her smile was dangerous. 

"Would you like to remember?"

"No-! Please..."

The dagger pressed into his neck, enough to produce a thin trail of blood, and Geralt's fists clenched. He growled, loud.

The room went still.

"...Who was that?"

It was like a spell that had them suffocating was slowly lifting. Yennfer's smile faltered, and her eyes went dark as the bard recalled the sound. 

"You know who, Jaskier. Say their name."

Say it. Please.

"I don't know."

"You know, my good boy. Say it."

Her hand had stopped stroking the second Geralt had broken their spell. The dagger was relenting as well, looser in her grasp, no longer an immediate threat. 

He took a step forward. The sound made Jaskier jump. 

"Who..?" "Jaskier." She soothed him by petting his hair, the sharp edge of the blade discarded in the sheets. "It's okay."

Geralt suddenly understood; Yennefer got what she needed. She was giving him back. It would be over soon; the drumming of blood in his ears was almost painful as he waited.

There was a long pause, and he was right in front of the two.

"I-" The precious lark began to breathe out in response to her encouragements "I want..." 

With a yank on chestnut hair, she corrected him, her voice scalding hot, scolding,

"No, you don't want. You **need.** "

Jaskier let out a sob - a song that could break the hearts of millions. "I _need him._ "

And that desperate wail, was when Geralt broke.

\- 

Yennefer moved swiftly; held Jaskier legs up behind his knees, pulling them up up up, and with the bards flexible body, there was no groan of protest. Geralt kissed him. Jaskier cried. Yennefer uses her oil-slick fingers to open him. 

Hands moved from their invisible shackles on the bed and grabbed like a man starved at the witcher before him, grasping at hair, armor, his defined jaw, everything, and Jaskier cried. Through the whole thing. But he didn't move to take the blindfold off - like if he did, Geralt would disappear. 

\- 

He fucked into Jaskier as the songwriter laid his head in Yennefer's lap, pliant and good and singing the perfect yearning ballad. She made no moves to engage, only staring down at his face and combing fingers through his hair. 

She was content, yes, and she sighed with a smile as her thumb slipped past Jaskier's open lips and felt his silver tongue. It was a small conquest, but it was done.

I didn't matter what they thought would happen when this was over.

It didn't matter who they loved or how passionately they coveted eachother.

It didn't matter how many possessive bruises they left on the other's skin,

Because she's marked them as hers.


End file.
